


Compulsion

by LogosMinusPity



Series: FangRai Forever [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, FangRai February, Prompt Fill, Zippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogosMinusPity/pseuds/LogosMinusPity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #43: Fang's always wanted to use her teeth to take off Lightning's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> Compel: to force or drive, especially to a course of action
> 
> Posted for FangRai February prompt #43.

It was day four of the sweltering mid-summer heat wave, and the forecasters were saying that it wouldn’t be until the end of the week that the weather system finally finished passing over them, lowering back down to more tolerable temperatures.  Like with any periods of extreme heat, it meant local crime had spiked, and that in turn meant Lightning was getting flooded with far more paperwork for all of the various arrests her men had been making on the streets.

At least her position afforded her the comfort of her air conditioned office in the Guardian Corps building; she wasn’t out in the unbearable temperatures having to chase down minor criminal thugs.  It had, however, been keeping her unreasonably busy at work, and her exhaustingly long days in the office were proving equally as frustrating to the woman who waited for her at home as they were for Lightning.

Cracking her neck, Light turned to glance out the window.  The sun was already setting, and she knew that if she didn’t take her moment now to leave, she would be lucky to get out in another three hours, so she accepted what opportunity had been afforded to her, and quickly escaped before another report got called in.

As soon as she stepped outside, the heat struck, weighing down on her with an oppressive humidity despite the fact that night was falling.  The walk home was by no means a long one, but by the time the house she shared with Fang came into view at the end of the road, she was covered with a visible sheen of sweat.  Why on earth had she even thought to wear her vest coat today?  Even without the sleeves, it was an extra and unwanted layer over her.  All she could think of as she walked up the steps of the front porch was how happy she would be to step back into the comfort of their air conditioned home.  Fang had taken the week off from working contracts while the heat wave stood—understandably—so she had been lounging around the house with too much time on her hands to apparently do aught else but complain about the late hours Light had been working.  She could only hope that the Yun warrior was in a fairer mood today; she _was_ getting home earlier than yesterday.

Lightning unlocked the front door and closed the summer heat out behind her, immediately and intensely grateful for the temperature controlled interior.  She wanted nothing more than to throw herself down on the couch and drink some ice cold lemonade.

But Fang had different plans.

Lightning had barely walked in, had only just thrown her jacket to the side, and then Fang was there and on her, pressing her right back into the cool paneling of the door that she had closed only moments earlier.

Powerful hands slammed down on either side of her head, making the entire door frame rattle.

“Mmm…another late day, love?” Fang’s eyes performed a heated and full body assessment of Lightning, running over every inch of cloth and skin, and the skin that was covered by cloth.  And what Lightning noticed—even taken aback as she still was by the sudden though not unwelcome onslaught—was the way in which Fang’s gaze stuttered over the long zipper of her brown sweater vest, pausing at the collar while her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. 

Lightning stared back at Fang, saw in her periphery as one hand drifted away, heard the familiar click of the door lock sliding into place, and saw the hand wander back to its original resting place.

They were close now, close enough to touch noses if only one of them leaned in.  Light watched Fang, watched her eyes dip down toward her neck and chest, and she licked her lips, willing for once to wait and see what would happen.  Fang’s hands remained where there were, plastered to the door on either side of Lightning, but the Pulsian dipped her head down—not toward Lightning’s lips, but further down toward her neck, toward the collar of her sweater vest, and toward the zipper that held it in place.

Only then did Lightning feel Fang’s hands move.  They reached around her throat, firmly grabbing the soft material of the sweater, but not the metal tag itself.

Instead Fang took the zipper of Lightning’s vest between her teeth and, while looking at her full on, pulled downward to undo the zipper.  Her movements were neither too fast nor too slow, and Lightning felt her pulse spike and her breath hitch at the sight.

She suddenly didn’t want Fang to switch back to using her hands at all, for all that it would be faster.  Instead she waited, back against the door, letting Fang take all the time in the world as she used her mouth and teeth to undo and peel off each layer of clothing from her.

There was something raw about it, something utterly primal in it that had her squirming and trembling at every glancing touch of lip and teeth against her bare skin.  It sent periodic shivers that radiated from Lightning’s crown to her toes even as she felt a wet heat between her legs, and she struggled with the effort of staying in place.

And then her torso was bare, and that carefree mouth was on to what remained.  Fang knelt before her, her face bare inches from Lightning’s exposed waist, and her eyes brightly intent on the silver zipper of her skirt.  She stared intently for a few long seconds while her breath exhaled warmly against Light’s skin, and it took all of Lightning’s self control to keep her hands at her side, palms pressed to the flat wood paneling of the door.  But she swallowed; her hands stayed their place, and a moment later she was rewarded when Fang took the second zipper between her teeth and yanked downward. 

Muffled words drifted up to her from Fang’s occupied mouth.

“Dammit, Light.” The words became clearer as she had to use her hands to finish removing the skirt, discarding it on the floor. “You…you and your _fucking_ zippers.”

Lightning wanted to chuckle at that.  _She_ wasn’t complaining about the zippers.  But her laughter was cut off and she inhaled sharply when Fang brought her head back up, and licked a deliciously slow path from her stomach up to her collarbone, leaving a glistening trail before moving back down toward a taut and pink nipple. 

“Fuck…Fang…” Coherency was quickly escaping her, and her mind was starting to tremble as the huntress’s mouth moved on to the other breast, her tan hands still stubbornly placed at Lightning’s sides, only her lips and tongue stimulating Lightning’s heaving skin.

Almost as if she could sense just when Lightning was about to give in, about to move and do something, Fang eased away.

The Pulsian stood to her full height.  Lightning tilted her head up slightly so they could meet gazes.  She felt Fang’s calloused hands cup both sides of her face, and saw her green eyes flutter shut as she leaned in for a kiss.  It felt like it had been too long; she had surely gone too long without tasting Fang while the woman had spent what felt like ages nipping and sampling every inch of her.  So she opened her mouth easily, finally and greedily exploring ever last bit of Fang’s lips and teeth and tongue with her own.

A growl of displeasure rumbled out of her throat when Fang pulled away.  Light quickly noted the way the other woman’s ivory teeth flashed from under a dark smile, and she allowed a second, louder growl to pass through her lips.

Fang’s grin faded slowly into a close-lipped and twinkling smile.  Lightning received a firm and heated kiss on her partially opened lips, silencing her earlier disapproval.

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

And in an instant the huntress was on her knees again.  A tongue, warm and wet, began drawing circles around her navel, toying with the piercing there, and Lightning heard a soft and surprised moan escape from her mouth.

She wanted to feel more of that tongue.

She wanted to feel that tongue on her elsewhere.

But she forgot that Fang knew her, and she knew her desire before she could even voice it.

So it was only another moment before that mouth moved further downward, abandoning the piercing in favor of other, more desirable pursuits.

Lightning watched as Fang bit into the band of her underwear and began dragging it off with nearly excessive force, all of the casual speed from earlier replaced with an urgent ferocity that made Lightning lightheaded with anticipation. 

The last bit of clothing discarded, Light watched Fang pause then, watched the head of messy hair hover at the junction of her thighs, and felt more than heard the deep inhalation of breath as Fang smelled her arousal.  Even after everything, it made Lightning blush hotly, and she bit down on her lower lip and closed her eyes.  When she reopened them, it was to see Fang now looking up at her, a grin on her face.  It was, unsurprisingly, cheeky, but it was also excited and intent, and her black pupils were round and dilated as she spoke.

“Don’t fall, sunshine,” warned Fang.  Then before Lightning could retaliate, she pressed her head in between Light’s parted legs, and her tongue worked the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

Lightning's breath hissed out, the rebuke that she would have dealt to Fang dead on the tip of her tongue.  She didn’t care at the groans she made.  She leaned her head back into the door, curled her fingers and scraped feebly at the painted wood.

The things that Fang could do with her tongue were nearly destructive to Lightning, able to undo all of the tight strings that held her together with a remarkable ease.

And Fang liked making her lose her cool façade—that much she had known for some time.  Before anyone else, saving face was too ingrained her nature, but around Fang…there was a part of her that relished being metaphorically driven to her knees by the woman, of losing every last fraction of her precious composure and then having to build it back up afterward, piece by piece.

“Ah…oh!” Her voice caught, unusually pitched and distinctly feminine as a set of fingers joined the tongue, moving into her.

Her legs shook with the extended effort of staying upright; the door at her back didn’t provide enough support, and for a moment she was sure that she might fall.  One hand jerked, reaching out to grip the locked doorknob, suddenly grateful for the brass support.

And both tongue and fingers were moving, and were it not for that support she would have surely given out as her hips bucked and trembled, and her insides clenched and her hands squeezed into fists.

She saw only white then, for a hazy second, and then her mind was floating back down to reach her shaking body, and she became cognizant of Fang kissing her way back up her torso, her lips now almost at her neck, both hands wrapped around Lightning’s waist.

Lightning swallowed thickly, focused on calming her erratic breath.

“You…” she began. “You…”

“Me.” Fang responded, as predictably pert as ever.

“ _You_.” Lightning growled this time, finally removing her hands from the door so that she could drag Fang’s mouth back toward her own, and taste the remnant dregs of her desire on the huntress’s lips.

 _You_.

She thought it silently, already in the automatic process of recovering the shattered pieces of her composure.

 _Only for you_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> On a bit more of a completely esoteric note, "Compulsion" is quite possibly one of my favorite words, and one that I knew had to be the title as soon as I thought of it. To say that it was "compulsion", or that something "compelled" you to do something is incredibly primal, basic, and almost a quality that cannot be easily named by our waking and conscious minds. It was--to be honest--a word that I thought very much characterized Fang for the prompt of this story. Don't mind my academic dissertations.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
